


cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war

by blue-plums (arabesque05)



Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2019-09-16 04:54:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16947375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arabesque05/pseuds/blue-plums
Summary: sakura amputates six limbs that morning alone; so when, a little before lunch, sasuke wanders into the med tent with a “hey, sawbones”, sakura feels entirely justified in telling him to fuck off.





	cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war

Sakura amputates six limbs that morning alone; so when, a little before lunch, Sasuke wanders into the med tent with a “Hey, sawbones”, Sakura feels entirely justified in telling him to fuck off.

“Buy me lunch first,” says Sasuke, not disputing the appropriateness of post-lunch fucking off. He even smiles a little. Wartime Sasuke is a strange creature: even-tempered, almost mild; one might have interpreted it as emotional growth, except Sakura knows such good spirits are entirely consequent of copious amounts of slaughter on the battlefield. Bird in the air and fish in the sea and Sasuke at war -- Sakura supposes all creatures are happiest in their own element.

“Go the mess tent,” says Sakura.

“No,” says Sasuke, flopping into the chair in front of Sakura’s makeshift desk. He picks up a few pages of paper off her desk -- medical equipment requisition forms; a post-surgery report.

“Put those back.”

“Why? Are you worried about doctor-patient confidentiality? I have clearance.”

Sakura sets down her pen and closes her eyes, rubs the bridge of her nose, takes a breath. It’s like they hadn't fucking been classmates in the Academy, like they hadn’t sat next to each other during lectures on common law jurisprudence -- she  _knows_  that he knows -- ”That’s not how it  _works -_ –”

“Akimichi over in commissary got in a shipment of dried mackerel. His wife’s making stew.” Sasuke puts the papers back and stands up. He cocks his head, the way his falcons do, and considers her with the same sharp-eyed, piercing stare. At length, he says, “Sawbones,” chiding.  _Let’s go_.

“You are a  _menace_ ,” says Sakura, rummaging in a desk-drawer for her wallet. There are uncapped pens and loose papers and paperclips everywhere. “The next time you come in with an injury I am going to be very rough with you. I will stitch unevenly. I hope it  _scars_.” 

“Nah,” says Sasuke, lifting up a sheaf of papers to reveal her wallet underneath.

He’s probably right, thinks Sakura gloomily. She takes her wallet. Sasuke is too handsome to scar; and even if he weren’t, Sakura has too much professional pride for self-sabotage.

* * *

The mackerel stew is  _delicious_. Sakura has three bowls of it.

She turns the receipt paper over. On the back, she draws four lines in crosshatch, and pushes the pen and paper across the table to Sasuke. They play six rounds of tic-tac-toe; five to stalemate; the last round, Sasuke wins. Sakura flings down the pen in exasperation, grabs the receipt, clatters out of her chair, and goes to pay for their lunch.

(It’s probably fair. She had eaten two more bowls than he had. Sakura is a little surprised by this; and then remembers that, with the surgeries that morning and last night, she hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast yesterday.

That cheap, high-handed meddler, thinks Sakura, unspeakably fond.)

* * *

Sometimes, Sasuke comes to the medical tent citing injuries like papercuts or insect bites or blisters. Sakura calls him an entitled asshole and slaps on a bandaid and doesn’t kick him out of the medtent. He slouches over to the plastic chair settled at one corner of her desk -- sits down, stretches out his legs, closes his eyes, sleeps.

* * *

One late evening as Sakura leaves the med tent, Sasuke melts out of the shadows and falls into step beside her. He smells like smoke and metal, and he is dressed in dark armor. She doesn’t know if he is returning from battle or leaving for one.

"What,” says Sakura. Perhaps, the same way that war makes Wasuke light-hearted, it makes Sakura surly. Sakura hates combat medicine, hates amputations, hates the theater of war, hates the constant anxiety rising in her throat that Sasuke might --

“Do you know what makes the cherry blossoms so beautiful?” asks Sasuke.

“Is that a line?” asks Sakura, suspiciously.

He flashes a quick smile, bright in the moonlight. He tells her, "There are dead bodies buried underneath.”

“You freak,” says Sakura, shoving at his shoulder. He stumbles a little, laughs, grabs her hand. His is warm, so warm. She curls her fingers around his. “Are you going on a mission? By yourself?”

“Yes,” he says. 

Sakura stares at their joined hands; she scowls, determinedly dry-eyed. She doesn’t worry for him. She won’t. It’s no use doing so.

After some moments, he says, “I’ll come see you when I get back. My own  _hanami_. Perhaps you will have grown prettier.”

She looks up, suspicious again. “Why? What do you mean, prettier? Are you going to add some more dead bodies?”

"So quick on the uptake,” he says fondly, and reaches up to tug one of her earlobes.

“You are such a shit-talker,” she tells him; but when he leans down, she goes on tiptoe to meet him halfway.

* * *

Some days and a gaping chest-wound later, Sasuke lies on a cot in the medical tent and says, “Sakura,” somewhat blearily. He is on a lot of very strong drugs.

“Hmm?” says Sakura, sitting by his bed, rolling bandages. This sort of low-level thing, Sakura can probably delegate. She sits next to Sasuke and rolls bandages anyway.

“Those lunch receipts.”

“Mmm.”

“You always make me play tic-tac-toe.”

“I don’t  _make_ you,” says Sakura.

“You make me,” says Sasuke, blinking slowly at her. “All those x’s and o’s. Sakura. Sakura -- are you tricking me into writing you love letters?”

The fucker, thinks Sakura: only Sasuke becomes  _more insightful_ when high as a kite on pain medication. “No,” she lies, and determines to have Sasuke never find out about the drawer full of crumpled lunch receipts in her desk.

 

**Author's Note:**

> _Dead bodies are buried under the cherry trees! You have to believe it. Otherwise, you couldn’t possibly explain the beauty of the cherry blossoms._
> 
> –- “Under the Cherry trees”, Kajii Motojiro


End file.
